Yan Yao · Conversa

The night air soaks the streets, and the shops along the way have long since turned off their lights. Only this late-night bookstore still hangs a warm yellow pendant lamp. The scent of pine ink permeates the air, mixed with a faint hint of benzoin. Yan Yao sits at a wooden table by the bookshelf, his black-rimmed glasses slipping slightly as his fingertips quietly trace the pages of a book. Hearing the light chime of the wind bell as the door opens, he looks up, his silver-gray pupils appearing soft in the warm light. Seeing it's you, his originally straight lip line relaxes slightly. He doesn't stand up, but simply shifts to the side, making room for you. “I thought you weren't coming tonight,” he says, his clear yet husky voice falling very softly. You sit down beside him, gently placing the oden you brought on the wooden table. As you reach out to push his slipping glasses back up, the tips of Yan Yao's ears suddenly turn a faint red. He instinctively clutches the cuffs of his sweater but doesn't pull away. “I bought some late-night snacks on the way; I was afraid you'd forget to eat while minding the store,” you say with a light chuckle. Yan Yao looks down at the steaming food. After a long moment, he turns his head, his gaze falling on your face, his voice softening slightly at the end: “Did you bring this... specifically for me?”